I remember the chess game, the night before Rigel’s planned execution, and even the look in his eyes when he couldn’t save me in the courtyard. I will miss him. But he died a hero’s death. He would have liked that.
“Goodbye, Dryal,” I whisper.
The next casket is infinitely harder. I had demanded the lids be closed. The thought of him in there is horrifying. In my mind’s eye, I will always picture him veiled with death. With my back to the crowd, I stand over the casket. Grief racks me, and I stand, paralyzed.
The bishop looks up, reaches across the casket, and briefly sets his hand over mine. “Time will heal this wound.”
I nod, not wishing to speak of it.
He stares at the casket as if imagining the man inside. Quietly, he says, “He could have been a good king.”
I take a deep breath and look up. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Empathy flashes across the man’s face.
Without a word, I turn and walk from the chapel. A cold breeze greets me as soon as I pass the stone threshold. I glance to the west where dark clouds gather and are moving in quickly. A snowflake falls from the sky, and it’s soon joined by another.
Summer, brief as it was, is over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A cry wakes me. I groan, but when I open my eyes, I see it’s well past sunrise. I lie here for a moment, relishing the feel of the warm blankets, but the cry becomes more insistent. I push back the covers and pull a dressing gown over my nightclothes.
With the floor cold on my bare feet, I walk to the next room. Standing in his bed with a blanket clutched in his hand, my son blinks his bright gray eyes at me. His cry fades. He hiccups once and then grins.
The little boy babbles nonsense, scattered with an occasional “Mama,” and he’s fully content to carry on a one-sided conversation while I wake.
I carry him to a chair by the fire, and together we sit. I tuck the blanket around him to shield him from the chill of the room. Soon he’ll want his morning meal, but for now, he’s content to be held.
Born almost exactly nine months after the battle that changed my life, this little boy—our future king—is my sunshine. I stroke his black hair, which is so much like his father’s, and listen to him chatter.
It’s been three years today. I don’t like visiting the graves, but somehow it feels wrong not to.
The sun peeks through the thick clouds, illuminating the room for a moment. It’s colder this year than it was that year. We’ve already had a dusting of snow. Leonard—named after his long-past grandfather—and I take breakfast in our chambers. After we’ve eaten, I bundle little Len up, wrapping him in more layers than is probably necessary. Then we venture into the morning.
Malcolm, my personal guard, accompanies us and shares bits of castle gossip. The dragons are quarreling over a hot spring. Vernow is demanding a cheaper price for our drachite armor. Kara somehow managed to dump a bushel of flour in the kitchens yesterday, and Rella was livid.
The last one makes me smile. Rella can never stay mad at Kara for long. Not only is she darling, but she looks just like Bea.
Malcolm holds back when we enter the cemetery, and Len and I enter alone. He toddles along, holding my hand. He points to stones he thinks are interesting, not fully understanding what they represent.
I pause in front of Dryal’s and trace his etched name with my finger. As I stand here, I remember Bea as well. Having died an assassin’s death, she received an unmarked grave in the lower cemetery. It doesn’t feel right to remember my dear friend there.
After several minutes, we move to the back where the king’s graves stand in a line.
“Father,” Len says, pointing at the newest stone at the end.
“My father,” I correct as I lay my hand on the stone. “Your grandfather.”
Leaves rustle. Still lost in thought, I don’t turn. Len squirms, reaching for the man behind us. The little boy is much more interested to see his own father than talk about mine—a man he never knew.
Rigel sweeps his son up and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I thought I might find you here.”
“You were busy this morning.”
Rigel grunts. “Dragons.” He musses Len’s hair, making the child laugh. “Adrinel is being difficult.”
“Isn’t she always?”
I watch Rigel play with Len. He tosses the boy lightly in the air, and Len squeals with glee. With the memory of the day I almost lost Rigel fresh in my mind, my heart clenches. The battle will forever be ingrained in my memory.
Weak and delirious, Rigel woke to my anguished screams. Dryal had saved us both, but Rigel had shielded me from the remaining darkness. He was under Kendal’s constant care for months, leaving me alone in my grief to learn how to rule Errinton as the queen I never thought I would—or perhaps wanted—to be. When I discovered I was carrying Len, I didn’t know if Rigel would recover to meet his child.
But he did.
Len squirms, and Rigel sets him free. The boy scampers off to examine twigs and rocks. I watch him, my heart content.
I’m startled by a thump against my stomach. I rub the spot. “He kicked.”
Rigel kisses my temple. “She kicked.”
“Kendal says there’s no way to know if it will be a girl or a boy.”
He turns and wraps his arms around me. “She’s a girl.”
I shake my head but smile. “So you say.”
A snowflake drifts from the sky and is soon followed by more. As the snow blankets the ground, a gentle hush settles around us.
Like a sentry, a silver dragon perches on a turret, his eyes on the village below. Content that all is as it should be, he spreads his wings and leaps into the sky. He’s soon camouflaged by clouds, but I watch him until I can spot him no more.
Rigel scoops Len up, takes my hand, and twines his fingers through mine. He leads us away from the cemetery, away from the dark memories.
The castle sits in front of us, no longer the prison of my youth but a sanctuary. I glance over my shoulder one last time, looking at the stones and saying a final goodbye.
In Errinton, where all I knew was darkness and disappointment, I’ve finally found happiness and peace.
The Final Chapter in The Eldentimber Series
Available July 8, 2016
Click here to view on Amazon.com
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About the Author
Shari L. Tapscott writes young adult fantasy and humorous contemporary fiction. When she's not writing or reading, she enjoys gardening, making soap, and pretending she can sing.
She loves white chocolate mochas, furry animals, spending time with her family, and characters who refuse to behave.
Tapscott lives in western Colorado with her husband, son, daughter, and two very spoiled Saint Bernards.
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The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 73
